


Warm arms to give

by Llamadramaphan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Short One Shot, Sibling Incest, Underage - Freeform, Weecest, a tale of the boys growing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llamadramaphan/pseuds/Llamadramaphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's got warm arms to give.</p>
<p>And little Sammy's eyes are rimmed with black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm arms to give

Demon.

Dean likes the word.

Likes the way it slowly drips down his throat, the way it lingers behind his teeth and releases itself through his mouth like a breath into a summer night.  
He hasn’t experienced many summers – most of which were endured within the space of a car which’s AP was in desperate need of a fix nine out of ten times – but for some reason, that word still manages to bring memories forth, memories he hasn’t even experienced yet.  
Maybe that’s why it doesn’t turn out to be a hard task for him to associate such word with the little body, climbing into bed next to him, laying his skinny chin onto Dean’s right breast.   
He smiles down at the boy and suddenly, the summer night has engulfed him fully, like someone had wrapped him in a warm blanket, just big enough for him and little Sammy to fit under.

“Can’t sleep?”

He says it with a slight slur, words apparently being harder to string together to full sentences in the middle of the night. But he isn’t angry at Sammy, not when he’s staring up at him with such big innocent eyes and a mouth full of scary stories which fill the kid’s head at times like these.  
Dean’s grown used to his little brother’s nightmares, seeing them and the kid himself as some sort of package deal – Sammy has the nightmares, and Dean has the warm body, warm arms which are used to embrace the little body as it clutches on.

They’ve done this a million times now, but still it manages to feel special to Dean every time. Manages to make his breath hitch slightly, whenever he catches glance of little Sammy sleeping on his chest, peacefully drooling away.

He’s got the feeling that this is what they’ve always done, always will do.

Just peacefully remain in each other’s arms, where nightmares don’t belong, where the words Dad sometimes uses don’t fit.

Demon.

Dean licks his lips at the idea of whispering the word into the air, into the crown of brown hair right under his chin. But he holds it back. Holds it right under his tongue, where it burns sweet little holes, that give Dean a little taste of what was to come.  
And to come were empty roads and even emptier heads, hollowed out by claws and fangs and symbols written in blood, and red lines carved into the little warm space under the chest where everything good is kept.

To come is a blue car with sirens, to come are nights of panic and despair as bodies clutch together, trying to fit themselves into the other, to come are burned pictures and memories - which burn even brighter.

But Dean doesn’t know yet.  
He doesn’t know of the range his father plans on taking him to the next day, doesn’t know about the warning the Eldest Winchester gives to the youngest, concerning his night-activities.   
And the space within Dean’s arms stays empty.  
His hands stop caressing, the warm skin of baby brother exchanged through hard metal that clinks and blood that dries. But only for a short while.  
Only until after he’s found out what John really means by the word that used to taste like honey on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but not leaves the taste of iron and family.  
And when a body finally winds itself back into the proximity of Dean’s arms, a body that actually matters, it’s not as small as it used to be, and not as warm.  
But the roads are still the same, even though positions have changed, and little Sammy’s chin still digs itself into Dean’s chest, into that space right above the beat.  
And if Dean were a good man, he’d tell that hand to stop wandering, pull it back up into the save and known.

But Dean grew up poor, he grew up angry, and so he lets the hand do whatever it pleases, whomever it may belong to, and when it belongs to the most important person he’s known, the person whose soul is so closely weaved into his own, he doesn’t mind anymore.  
Just like in that faithful night way back, when cacao was not yet replaced by coffee or burning liquor, and when Dad was still driving, when little Sammy leant up.  
Soft.  
So soft.

 

And again, there’s the word, sweet like honey, and it’s right there, waiting to be released into the small dreaded space right between them.  
Dean doesn’t yet gulp it down.  
Hasn’t yet learned what it actually means, what it holds and indicates.  
For all he knows, is that Sammy is it, that Dad doesn’t like that but hey, Dad will come around.  
He must.  
Because Sammy is too perfect to be hated, too perfect to be concluded into the family business just yet – on the receiving end.  
He will…and if not….  
Dean answers the question years later.  
But it’s okay.  
Because at least, Sam’s still riding shotgun.  
And Dean still has a pair of warm arms to give.

**Author's Note:**

> so, for anyone who doesn't get what I was trying to get across in this (I honestly do not blame you, my brain and the stuff it produces are confusing as fuck), is that John believes that Sam is a demon from a very young age - he does tell Dean this, starts training him etc.   
> When John finally wants to actually 'take care of Sam', Dean kills him. (the mention of police sirens)   
> So yeah, hope that cleared some shit up if it was too weirdly written.
> 
> Comments are the Best xx
> 
> (I apologize for any mistakes I may have made, thanks for reading)


End file.
